Martha was putting up a good front as they walked down the dusty gravel road between the shed rows on the backside of Chepstow Racecourse. The smell of hay and horse manure may be enjoyable for some, but her city educated nose found it acrid and unpleasant. She did a little skip step as she avoided a rather fragrant pile in her path. Close call there, she almost ruined her shoe. And today of all days she didn't want to be the cause of a fuss.
This was an important outing for Tom. His department head was leaving soon and Tom, along with several other doctors, was under consideration for the position. He'd already done his charity stint. It looked good on his CV, giving him a leg up on the competition who hadn't realized the long term benefits of a few months of less pay and substandard conditions. But that was Tom, always thinking ten steps ahead.
He had so many plans for how he could make things better in the children's ward. She agreed his goals were good but hated that the decision of who would get the job was based not on merit, but who could be the most political. And that was why they were on the backside of a track going to see the Dr. Marsh's race horse Seasparrow. To prove he was the kind of man who could mix in wealthy company and bring in the kind of donations his posh private hospital needed.
The gravel crunched under her feet as she thought about the label race horse. She had prepared herself for this outing by checking the horse's history so she could talk intelligently about it and help Tom impress their host. Unfortunately the horse's race record was filled with phrases like "dull effort", "no threat" and "trailed throughout". Not performances Martha imagined any horse owner would want to be reminded of.
She studied the horses as they walked by. Most had their long heads out over the stall doors. Ears pricked forward, their soft brown eyes watching them as they walked by. She was amazed at how expressive they were and found herself ascribing emotions to each of them as she passed. Some were curious and friendly blowing at anyone who came close catching there scent. Others looked worried with wrinkled brows and an almost 'please let me know I did right' expression. Occasionally one would puff itself up, arch its neck, and snap at the air in warning to anyone who would encroach on its territory.
One horse however, was quite unlike its neighbors'. Its head was almost resting on the top of the stall, eyes half closed, ears drooping off to the side, giving it a lazy, inattentive appearance. Looking for all the world like it could be hired out as a pony trekking mount, suitable for old grannies and young children. "It must be one of the pony horses that leads the races horses on to the track," thought Martha. "It was hardly a fit race horse who could consume the track with ground eating strides and sail over the hurdles with ease."
She smiled at that last thought. She had looked up a video of one of Seasparrow's races. There was what appeared to her to be an awkward jump. It must have been very awkward as the jockey was catapulted from the saddle rolling with the fall and quickly standing up. He was in no danger of being trampled as Seasparrow was last, as usual.
Seasparrow, instead of trying to catch up with his mates and continuing to run as Martha had seen other horses do when losing their rider, had taken a far more practical route. He pulled up, put his head down and proceeded to consume the course. Not with thundering ground eating strides, but with his teeth.
"Hello there," Dr. Marsh called out cheerily to the lopped eared horse breaking Martha out of her thoughts. "You ready to run today old boy?" The horse whickered in response, languidly lifting his head up with an economy of effort to greet his owner. The man absentmindedly patted the horse on the neck as he turned to address his entourage.
"I know he doesn't look like much, but he's got some great breeding. Same bloodlines as that American timber horse Saluter. That horse won the Virginia Gold cup six times in a row. Even retired the trophy. This guy is every bit as good as that horse, he just needs the right ride. And today I think he is going to have it. His trainer has found a new jockey who has been giving him some great workouts. The rest of the field won't know what's hit them." Dr. Marsh beamed as he spoke, his chest swelled up so much with pride that Martha was sure the buttons on his high street suit were about to burst.
The subject of his praise was unimpressed however, and started lipping the man's coat sleeve, having no interest in his words of praise, but looking for something more substantive. The administrator prattled on, unaware of Seasparrow's attempt to change the subject. Frustrated at being ignored, the horse used his teeth and gave the sleeve a good tug. Martha held her breath, sure that the man would not appreciate horse saliva and teeth marks on his thousand pound plus suit. She was wrong.
"Oh, where are my manners?" Dr. Marsh laughed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few lumps of sugar. "Here you go boy. You do good today and there will be plenty more where that came from." The horse neatly plucked the offered sweets out of the man's hand.
"Well, let's get going, shall we? There's a great lunch waiting for us and this guy has a race to get ready for." Dr. Marsh gave the horse a final pat to which the horse responded by butting his head up against his owner's chest. "Obviously looking for more treats," thought Martha. "Well, obvious to some, but not to others."
"Ah, this is how he says goodbye," Dr. Marsh explained as he pulled a final sweet from his pocket and gave it to the horse. He then lead his party back to the clubhouse. "He's got a good chance today. His new jockey loves him almost as much as I do, regular match made in heaven. Today will be the day he breaks his maiden in the hurdles."
Martha was amazed at how deluded that man was. It was a nice horse, friendly and all, but it was no race horse, no matter what its pedigree. It's only chance of winning was if every other horse fell before the last. As they walked along Tom reached for her hand and squeezed it, not in affection but in warning. He must have sensed what she was thinking, though she was sure none of her thoughts had shown on her face. Tom was like that, an almost sixth sense of what was on her mind. She looked down at her free hand, her engagement ring prominent on her finger. Once it had been a symbol of love, now it felt more like a symbol of impending ownership. This ambitious new Tom was not the man she had fallen in love with.
She sighed quietly, truth be told, the man she fell in love with was in a time line that no longer existed. The Tom Milligan she was with now hadn't been through the tyranny of the Master. A true sadist who killed and terrorized for his own pleasure. That Time Lord had destroyed 10% of the human population simply because he liked the word decimate.
The Tom Milligan who had endured that, had more important things on his mind than hospital politics and keeping up appearances. That year of terror had been a crucible which had burned away all pretense and selfish motivations, and left a man purely motivated to helping his fellow man, giving up his life to save a person at that time that he barely knew. It rankled her perhaps even more because she knew "her" Tom was there inside this man of drive and ambition walking next to her now. She wondered if she was only in love with what he could have been and not with what he was.
As they were approaching the clubhouse, Martha pushed her thoughts of her relationship problems aside. There was no need to interfere with Dr. Marsh's fun. His horse may be a total no hoper but the man clearly was besotted with it. She might as well play along if for no other reason than to help him enjoy the day as much as possible. She put on her brightest smile and started thinking of encouraging things she could say about Seasparrow. Tom must have sensed the change and put a comforting arm around her.
"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he asked.
"A few times," Martha responded with a grin, "but it never hurts to repeat yourself in that area."
"I'll have to remember to do it more often then," he observed as he gave her shoulder an extra squeeze. "Too bad your mother couldn't have made it. Doctor Marsh has planned a very posh afternoon. It's just her kind of thing."
Martha just smiled and kept her thoughts to herself. Her mother's tendency to blunt honesty was the last thing that would be welcome here.
When they reached the private room in the club house Martha saw the Tom had not been exaggerating. A spread had been set up fit for royalty from fancy hors d'oeuvres (definitely too posh to be called nibbles), to a carvery with roast beef, mutton and ham, sides that were so exotic were all being attended to by liveried servants. She suspected as the day proceeded sweets and pastries of various kinds would be brought out. The champagne was already starting to flow.
One of servants was about to hand her a glass, when her mobile rang. Tom shot her a harsh look. "You said you had the day off," he accused.
"I'm sorry," she apologized with a shrug as she fished her mobile out of her bag. "They said I would only be called if it was a true emergency."
Tom rolled his eyes. He didn't know the true nature of her work. She hadn't been authorized to tell him. As far as he knew she was a medical bureaucrat with an obscure government agency. The secrets she had to keep from him proved to be another strain on their relationship. He had complained many times about her emergencies. "How could papers needing to be moved from one side of a desk to another constitute an emergency?" was typical of the kind of comments he would make. A soft voice caught her attention.
"Dear, if you need some privacy, you can use that room right over there," suggested Mrs. Marsh, her chiffon and gold bracelet clad arm was pointing to a door in the back of the room.
"Yes, thank you, that's very kind of you, sorry to be a bother," apologized Martha as she put the phone to her ear and hurried to the offered room. "This is Dr. Jones," she spoke into her mobile, hoping it was a quick communications check. Tom would not be happy if she had to rush off.
She almost broke stride when she heard the voice on the other end of the line. It was Ianto. Clear and calm as always but she detected an undertone of tension.
"Dr. Jones, there's a medical emergency here at Torchwood. Is it possible you could get here straight away?"
All thoughts of pleasing Tom left her mind, if Ianto was calling her it was more important than her making a show for a department administrator. There was another concern however, she was too far from Torchwood to be the physician of choice for a true emergency. "I can come, I'm almost an hour away, but isn't there someone closer you can call?"
"No, I'm sorry. We need someone with your expertise and special experience. There's no one closer. Should I have a car pick you up?"
Martha noticed he didn't ask her location, of course he would know where she was. He was Torchwood after all. He probably had a map of the club house and knew what room she was speaking from. "No, I'll borrow Tom's car."
"The green boxster?" Ianto inquired.
"Yes, that one," Martha replied with a sigh. A car built for pure ego, another sign Tom was more about flash than substance. She remembered him telling her that having that car would show him to be the kind of young go getter the hospital board liked, the kind that would bring in the posh private patients. Pure stuff and nonsense her mother had called it.
"I'll arrange for lights and speed cameras to be favorable," Ianto informed her. "Please come quickly."
"Is there anything you can tell me about the patient," Martha queried.
"No, I can't, this isn't a secure line," Ianto replied. "It's none of the staff though."
Martha relaxed, suddenly aware of the tension she had been holding in her body since she'd heard Ianto's voice. "So, you, Jack and Gwen are all alright then?"
"Yes, we are, but please hurry. It's important that you get here soon."
"I'm on my way," Martha assured him. She hung up and smiled despite the seriousness of the situation. For once that stupid car just might come in handy. Tom would envy the drive she was about to give it.
She quickly walked back into the private party room and found her fiancé, who was chatting up Dr. Marsh's wife. Perfect. She attracted his attention with a hand on his arm.
"Tom, I have an emergency and need to go now. May I have the keys to the car?" Martha asked.
Tom's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Martha held her breath. "Oh please don't be difficult," she prayed silently. Before Tom responded, Mrs. Marsh spoke up.
"I really do think it is delightful how supportive you young men are of your partners these days. I wish there had been that kind of understanding when I was young. Who knows what I might have become if only I'd had the opportunity. But back then a woman's career and plans always took the back seat to the man's."
Tom fished the car keys from his pocket and handed them to Martha. "Yes, of course you can take it. Call me and let me know you're alright will you?"
"Of course I will," Martha replied.
"Will you be back in time for us to go home together or will I need to hire a car."
"Don't you worry Tom, we have plenty of room in our car," Mrs. Marsh interjected. "I'm sure my husband would enjoy the chance to talk in private."
Martha felt a surge of gratitude towards the woman. "I'm sorry I'll miss the race," she apologized as she fished a twenty pound note from her purse. "Please put this on Seasparrow for me," she requested as she handed the note to Tom.
"You sure you want to do that dear?" asked Mrs. Marsh. "I know my husband thinks this time he'll win, but..." The old woman shook her head with a sad smile her gold and diamond earrings slightly swaying beneath her well-coiffed hair emphasizing the movement.
"I'm sure," assured Martha with a smile. "I have a feeling also. This just might be his race after all."
"Well run along then dear," urged Mrs. Marsh. "I'll make your apologies to my husband."
Martha took time for one last thank you then quickly left the room. Soon she was on her way to Torchwood, wondering what the emergency could be. At least she was familiar with their equipment and facility. That was an advantage over some of the situations she'd been in since joining UNIT. At the first light she saw Ianto's magic was working. The light short cycled so she had a green when she arrived. She could floor the Porsche with confidence and give it a good workout.
Ianto pocketed his mobile. Martha was on her way. He was grateful she hadn't pressed him for more information. From what he had observed she was almost as besotted by the Doctor as Jack was. Her medical professional objectivity might carry over to when she was driving but he didn't want to risk it. Even with the traffic lights adjusting to expedite her journey, she needed to fully concentrate on her driving at the speeds she was traveling at. He watched her progress for a few miles making sure the software was working. Not only did it ensure she always had a green light but once she was on the M4 it would alter the traffic lights to lessen the number of cars that would be entering the motorway as she passed by.
Satisfied it was working, he proceeded to prepare for her arrival. The coffee mess was ready. Martha preferred tea and he had laid in a fresh supply with the Doctor here. She would need some changes of clothes and perhaps some toiletries. It was doubtful she would only be here a day. He knew her size and taste, and ordered what he felt was appropriate.
Taking care of the details no one else thought of, that was what he was good at. The things that others were at first grateful for, then later they just expected it as a matter of course. Hopefully Jack would appreciate his efforts in getting Martha here. He felt the Doctor was a rival for Jack's attention, but he was still going to do whatever it took to help him. Maybe then Jack would forgive him. And he owed the Doctor. He'd felt that creature take control of him and seen the effort it took for the Time Lord to free him from it. He was grateful for that, but didn't understand why. Why would the Doctor save him at such a cost?
He stared at the monitor, the pale, thin, fragile looking figure on the screen offered no answer to that question. And somehow he doubted it ever would.